


through our eyes He judges

by problems



Series: passages for a new dying [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A cat - Freeform, Biting, Cannibalism, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Hand Jobs, Injury, M/M, Murder, Strangulation, Violence, tagging hannibal fics is truly a joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problems/pseuds/problems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will tells himself that he is restless is because he fears the inevitability of Hannibal's darkness, but it is because he feels it inside of himself, too. He feels it rising like the creeping tide, pulled higher and higher by a force no less monolithic or inexorable than the moon — and it will drown him just as surely as the sea, if he lets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	through our eyes He judges

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for some, uh, probably very upsetting violence against women and graphic sexualized murder?? Like, you probably know what you're getting into with this pairing but uh........... you know......... stay safe my dudes.

It's been six months, two weeks and three days since the last time Will and Hannibal killed.

It's not weird that Will knows this. He remembers the date, not from any particular effort to retain it, and he did the calculation because he honestly does not have anything better to do with his time.

What Will doesn't remember is precisely how long they have been living in Argentina. Time is kind of running into a blur, and Will has no schedule or structure to mark the days. 

They are staying in a house on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. It's small, and not in the best condition, but it has space enough for the two of them. Hannibal is vague when Will asks about how he got it — he has _friends_ here, he says. That is also the explanation he gives when Will asks how he managed to acquire employment at a university in the city, at which Hannibal spends most of his day.

Will isn't sure if he likes it this way or if it is driving him crazy. He can't imagine how he could handle being around Hannibal literally every hour of the day, but the only thing he has to look forward to is when Hannibal returns, makes him dinner, and then fucks him.

There's not much to do. The area around the house is flat stretches of grass for as far as the eye can see, sparsely dotted by trees. There's a dirt trail Will can walk down, if he wishes. If he goes far enough, he'll find a wider road, unpathed. It's covered in garbage. He might see a car pass, if he waits.

So Will mostly stays indoors. Hannibal brings him a new pre-paid SIM card once a month, which is about the only link to civilization Will retains. He tries to study Spanish, but it's hard to make much progress. He feels like he forgets everything he learns on the occasion that Hannibal brings him into the city to pontificate at length about the value of various museum collections or snidely criticize the offerings of the latest six-star restaurant that he's found. They never go to the same place twice.

It sounds more dreadful than it actually is, honestly. He feels less isolated than he imagined he would. He doesn't especially long for human company. It's monotonous, but peaceful. 

The only thing that really nags at him is when Hannibal intends to kill again.

They don't... talk about it. The subject has simply never come up. Even now, it's difficult for Will to just _talk_ about it — and, well, he'd sort of been counting on Hannibal to take the lead.

Perhaps it's better this way. The life they've made is... simple, but it's quiet and comfortable, and for the first time in months Will is beginning to escape that overpowering sense of being watched. Judged. Hunted.

But he can't help but wonder.

Will tells himself that he is restless is because he fears the inevitability of Hannibal's darkness, but it is because he feels it inside of himself, too. He feels it rising like the creeping tide, pulled higher and higher by a force no less monolithic or inexorable than the moon — and it will drown him just as surely as the sea, if he lets it.

And what a reversal of roles, he marvels. Now it is his humanity that lurks in the back of his consciousness, filling him with pernicious doubts and inconvenient desires. Part of him hopes that one day it will seize back his mind, as once the monster did, and turn him away from this descent into hell; part of him laments that not even his submission to the darkness has brought him peace from the war within himself.

There's no good way to broach the topic. Maybe they'd ought to be beyond this awkward stage by now, but when it comes to social incompetence, Will is nothing if not resourceful.

It's a Saturday and they're staying in. Hannibal intends to put on an entire production, so he's preparing dinner practically the moment they've finished lunch. Will wonders how Hannibal doesn't tire of the endless culinary onslaught. He can barely manage to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich twice a week.

Hannibal prefers not to have his work disturbed, and however impressive his ability is, it's not that exciting to watch the six hundredth time, so Will mostly goes to find something else to do while he prepares. But he doesn't want to let his courage go to waste, so he lets himself into the kitchen before he loses it.

Before Will can say anything at all, though, Hannibal is bearing down upon him with invective. 

"Will, you must get this pestering creature out of here immediately," Hannibal implores. "I shut him into the bedroom but it seems that he has learned how to turn the doorknob and let himself out. There is nothing I can do to banish him. He has been staring at the marinade and he thinks he'll have it the moment I turn my back. Utterly dreadful beast. I am sick to death of him."

So Will and Hannibal have a cat.

If there's anything that Will genuinely misses of his old life, it's his dogs. He thinks about them constantly — dreams about going back for them. He wonders if they're being cared for, but he can't imagine that Molly kept more than two or three. He hopes that she at least found them homes, and didn't just leave them at a shelter.

One of the first things Will asked after they'd settled in Buenos Aires was when he could adopt a few dogs. Hannibal swiftly made it very clear that he does not want to have even one dog. "They're filthy, loud and a nuisance," he repeats, whenever Will tries to bring it up, despite the fact that Will is perfectly capable of doing all of the work by himself. 

It took tremendous effort to wear him down into a compromise. Will is not really a cat person, but he wants _something_ to take care of. He feels unfulfilled without it. He figured it would be much easier to convince Hannibal to go along with a cat, since they are at least nominally clean, self-reliant and quiet. After months of pestering, Hannibal relented and took Will to a shelter.

But Will's nature being what it is, he was not able to go through with his plan to adopt the most inoffensive cat in the building. He took one look at the most hideous, malodorous, foul-mannered, corpulent, unhomeable cat they had and the decision was made for him.

 _El Papi Gordo_ looks like a persian had sex with a toad. He is more like a roiling bag of lard than a cat, and his voluminous tufts of white fur make him look even fatter than he actually is. He walks with a glacial, waddling gait, his heavy belly dragging beneath his bowing legs — all the fur on his stomach has rubbed off, making him resemble a hedgehog with a nasty rash. If you put a hand on his back it feels like fondling a sack of curdled cheese.

His demeanor is just as foul as his appearance. He caterwauls throughout the day for no discernible purpose. He's very capricious — sometimes he is relentlessly demanding of affection and cannot get enough of Will's attention, and sometimes he will fly into a rage and attack, quite often at a moment's notice. It's not much of a hazard because he's declawed, has no teeth, and mostly gets stuck up on his own paunch before he can get anywhere, but it's not especially pleasant to experience. 

He's losing weight now that Will has him on a home cooked diet, but it's slow going — he might have a thyroid problem, Will guesses. He definitely has FIV and a gastrointestinal imbalance that makes his stool smell like a rotting egg on a hot day — which, by the way, was another thing Will convinced Hannibal would not be a problem, since a cat could bury its shit outside. _El Papi Gordo_ does not go outside even when given the opportunity, and does not know how to cover his feces even in a litterbox. Will has to watch him like a hawk and rush to bury it for him if he doesn't want the house to reek of cat shit.

Needless to say, Hannibal utterly despises this creature. Rationally, Will can't really blame him, since _El Papi Gordo_ is objectively a dreadful animal the likes of which not even Will has ever seen. Despite this fact, Will completely blames him, and is irritated all of the time that Hannibal can't just get past the cat's practically endless list of flaws and love it for the simple virtue of being around like he does.

So when Hannibal is being pissy about the cat, Will gets pissy. "He's not even doing anything," Will defensively protests, though he goes to shoo him out of the kitchen. The cat will listen to what Will says, but not Hannibal, which Hannibal also hates. "He'd like you better if you weren't so mean to him."

"I have absolutely no concern for _El Papi's_ opinion of me," Hannibal replies, snide, and pulls a sharp blade from his knife block.

This _also_ irritates Will. "Why don't you just call him Gordo? Calling him _El Papi_ is — it's a weird thing to call a cat."

Hannibal looks to Will as if that were the most ludicrous thing he'd ever suggested. "You must put greater effort into studying Spanish, Will. Gordo is an adjective. It would be as if I were calling him 'fat'. Consider how absurd that is, Will. 'Hello, fat'. 'Here is your dinner, fat'. It's inappropriate, grammatically, as well as rude."

Will had expected this. Will can't believe he expected this and then actually had it happen. "Actually, no, I looked it up and it's fine," he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. Hannibal pauses and turns his gaze to Will, as if he is stunned by the incredulity of the act. Hannibal very, very reluctantly looks at Will's phone when it's shoved in his face, mouth twitching. "Look, it says it's fine to —"

Hannibal immediately turns up his nose and returns to his preparations. "Wiktionary? I don't accept that as a reputable source."

This is a stupid, pointless argument. "I don't know why you think you're such an expert on Spanish. It's not like you're a native speaker either," Will says. Hannibal doesn't even respond. Will has absolutely nothing to gain from keeping at it, but he's actually getting angry about the cat's damn name. "Okay, what about... Collins Dictionary? This says it's used as a noun too. Just _gordo,_ used like... _fatty._ Every dictionary I look at says it's fine."

Hannibal doesn't even bother to look at Will's phone this time. "That misses the point," he responds, completely dismissive. "It is not a matter of it being technically permissible to use the word as a noun in a crude colloquialism; in the name itself, it is _clearly_ being utilized as an adjective, so shortening it in such a way —"

"I hate you so fucking much I can't even believe it," Will breathes. "He's a cat. He doesn't understand a word you're saying. He doesn't understand grammar."

Hannibal's intonation is carefully controlled but Will can feel the barbs beneath the smooth surface of his artifice. "If he understands nothing, why are you so adamant that he keep this abomination of a moniker?" 

They have had this conversation before. They will have it again. "He's an adult cat. That's his name. You can't just change an animal's name."

"You contradict yourself with every breath," Hannibal coldly responds. The blade of his knife slices through the meat before him and resounds against the cutting board like a threat.

So much for that. Will is in a bad mood now, and he no longer even wants to bother bringing the subject up anymore. "Whatever. Forget it," he says, and turns to go.

But Hannibal stops him in his tracks with a word. "Will," he says, sharp.

" _What?_ " Will spits, turning to glare at Hannibal's back. 

Hannibal answers Will's performative irritation with magnanimity. "You didn't come to me to argue about the cat's name."

Will takes a deep breath. "... No, I didn't."

"Well, then. What is it that you wish to discuss, Will?"

Will still isn't sure what angle he wants to come at it from. He sighs, his anger deflating into impotence. "It's just... it's been a while since..." He can't even decide on what to _call_ it. After an awkwardly long pause, he settles on, "Bedelia."

"I suppose it has," Hannibal says, mild. Offers nothing. How helpful.

Will is frustrated. "And since then, we... you... you haven't _done_ anything."

"Why, Will? Do you long to kill again?" Hannibal says, evading entirely Will's attempts at constraining to conversation to the realm of euphemism.

"No," Will answers, perhaps a bit too hastily. "I'm just... I'm just wondering. I figured... that by now, you'd..."

"Well, come out with it," Hannibal urges, when Will trails off into silence.

Will isn't sure what he wants to come out _with._ "Don't you have, you know..." He swallows and finds his throat dry. "Impulses? ... Cravings?"

Hannibal looks to Will for only a moment, but his smile lights a fire in him that Will _still_ can't fully describe. That way his skin burns with shame and disgust, his chest blooms with contentment — that excitement frayed at the edges by fear. That sense of being _seen._ "Is that what you expect of me, Will?" Hannibal asks, tone dark.

"I don't know," Will answers. "I still don't know what to expect of you at all. I'm flying at the seat of my pants, here, honestly." He tries to laugh and it comes out as awkward and stilted as he feels.

"Then you must wonder on account of the inner psychological manifestations of your own predilections, assuming mine to be the same."

Will doesn't even know how he's supposed to take that, let alone answer it, so he doesn't.

"You are projecting," Hannibal supplies, more simply but no less presumptuous and grating. "You know that you can talk to me about these things."

Even now, Will's immediate reflex is to argue. But Hannibal is not really wrong, is he? Will chokes down his pride and says, "That's what I'm trying to do."

"And I'm glad you've finally come to me, even if it took you time to muster the courage."

Will stands for a while, watching Hannibal as he works. It's indescribably bizarre how... _slow_ Hannibal makes him feel, sometimes — he has to sit and mull over his emotions to make any sense of them. But Hannibal gives him the time, and he takes it, until he's chewed on it long enough to know that he wants to spit it out. "That's what this was about?" he says. "You wanted to make me come to you and... and _beg_ for it?"

"You have an awfully negative way of seeing things, Will," Hannibal says. "It was merely my wish to give you the time and space to take this at your own pace. I thought it would be hardship enough for you to adjust to living in a foreign country whose language you do not speak without being pressured about the timetable of our next... _collaboration._ "

This entire encounter got off to a rotten start, and the end of it isn't looking like it'll be much better. Will feels, just... shoddy, and full of doubt, but what the fuck is he even supposed to do about any of it, at this point? He releases a tired sigh, runs his hands through his hair. "Sorry," he says. He doesn't even know what he's apologizing for, exactly. "I just..."

"There is a young woman named Maria at the college at which I have been lecturing," Hannibal interjects. He moves about, transferring the chopped meat to a bowl. "She is a student in one of my classes. She has taken an interest in me — perhaps even formed an infatuation — but I think she would be rather more to your tastes. She is smart, but not ostentatiously so; beautiful, but not arrogant. Perhaps a bit young, though. Hmm."

The tangent comes suddenly and Will is too exhausted to even process it. "W... what?"

"I have taken some time to get to know her outside of class. She has overcome great adversity to get to where she has; she is from a very small town, far from here, and her family was of little means. As bitter-sweet as life is wont to be, she was not able to pursue an education until her parents each succumbed to illness, leaving her with no one else. She sold everything that she had left to move to Buenos Aires and enroll at the university. But her background being what it is, she's had trouble making connections among her peers — she confides to me that she is quite lonely."

"Oh," Will says. He wets his lips unconsciously. "So she won't... be missed."

Hannibal smiles, full of warmth. "Shall I invite Maria to dinner next weekend, Will?"

Will's mouth opens and closes. Of course, Hannibal wants him to make the decision. Will hadn't even realized how badly he was _itching_ until this moment. He feels every inch of his skin crawl with it. "Yes," he exhales. He feels his heart rate quicken, heat in his face. "I —"

"You will be the one to do it, this time," Hannibal says, simple and matter of fact. "You are ready."

Will flexes his fingers at his sides. He wants it. Just the thought of it arouses his emotions. He feels lightheaded and giddy, chest full of sparks, like an excited child. _Christ, what is wrong with you?_

If Will were to judge by the smile Hannibal gives him, nothing at all.  
  


* * *

  
There is a knock at the door at precisely quarter to seven.

Hannibal is still not quite done with the dinner preparations, so he sends Will to answer. Will is reluctant to do so, but for lack of any response that is not completely juvenile and ridiculous, he complies.

Somehow, Will is still nearly as surprised to see Maria on the other side of the door as she is to see him.

Maria is just as Hannibal described — she is pretty enough, but in the sort of way where it's not clear that she knows it. Her hair is a bit frazzled, and she wears no makeup. Her clothing — jeans, a plain blouse — is simple and cheap. No jewelry. The shoes she has on are probably the only pair she owns, from the state of them. If Hannibal hadn't point blank told him her history, Will probably could've guessed it with a glance — she wears her life plainly on her body.

He wonders how she managed to get all the way out here, but he spots a taxi driving its way off. At first Will worries that the taxi driver might be a problem, until he realizes that, A, there is no way a girl like Maria could've afforded to take one out this far, which means Hannibal paid for it, and B, if Hannibal is involved with one part of the arrangement, he has certainly orchestrated every other aspect as well.

It is then that Will comes to the absurd realization that he trusts Hannibal completely with his freedom, his life and his heart. Or rather, he offers them up willingly, and as Hannibal stands poised to guide him or crush him as his caprice dictates, Will finds that he doesn't much care about what the outcome may be.

Will does not know whether this is liberation or lunacy.

Naturally, Will is too absorbed with scrutinizing the girl's circumstance to actually greet her. Maria stands for just a moment in stunned awkward silence before she asks, "Em, buenas noches. ¿Es este el lugar equivocado?"

Will snaps back to attention, but the only immediate response he can muster is to self-consciously bring his hand up to cover the scar on his face. He stares gormlessly back at Maria before he realizes words are required. "I — n-no hablo — I mean, bad hablo — oh my god."

Maria has to struggle not to crack up and Will is mortified. Thankfully, she seems to speak English. "Ah, I am looking for Profesor Teel. He is here?"

Oh, shit. Is that what Hannibal is calling himself now? Will had never even asked. Will's mouth opens and no words come out. Oh god.

"I am sorry, I must have got the wrong address. So sorry to bo—"

"Wait," Will sputters. "You're Maria, right?"

Maria's expression just turns to confusion. "Yes. I am Maria."

"Yeah, uh, you had the right address," Will says. "He's — he's here. Working on dinner, so..."

There is an awkward silence shared between them before Maria next speaks. "I am sorry, who are you exactly?"

Oh, of course. Hannibal didn't _tell_ her. This is just great. "I'm Will. I'm his..." Will cracks. "Friend."

Maria gives Will a blank look and it takes all of his strength to not just slam the door in her face and turn around. "Profesor Teel did not tell me that he invited a friend."

"Yeah, well... here I am," Will says. He wants to be dead. Did Hannibal let this girl think she was coming to a private date? "Do you, uh, want to come inside?"

From the look on her face, maybe not. But she nods anyway, and follows Will inside when he welcomes her through the door.

Will has no idea what to say to this girl, so he brings her immediately to Hannibal, who is still working in the kitchen. Hannibal's face immediately lights up with performative personability upon laying eyes on Maria. "Ah, Maria. Es maravilloso que usted vino."

"Siempre me alegro de verte, profesor," Maria gushes, hurrying over to kiss Hannibal on the cheek. When she pulls back, smiling with her fingers lingering on Hannibal's arms, Will is surprised by the jolt of jealousy that hits his chest. _Really? You feel threatened by that?_

Maria and Hannibal engage in a rapidfire exchange in Spanish, leaving Will deaf and stranded. His face feels hot, and he isn't sure what to do. He just... stands there, hands awkwardly in his pockets, until _El Papi Gordo_ corpulently trundles into the room.

Hannibal curdles like sour milk upon sight of the cat, but Maria looks as if she were witnessing the rapture itself. Before Gordo can get into anything and set Hannibal off onto a tantrum, Will scrambles to pick him up. 

Maria drops Hannibal like a hot potato to fawn over the cat. "Ohhh, is so cute!! What is her name?"

Will grits his teeth as a shot of irritation goes through him, but he pushes it down. Gordo releases a grating meowl. "His name is. Um. It's Gordo."

Maria smoothly corrects herself. "Oh, he certainly is, isn't he?"

Will looks pointedly at Hannibal when Maria, native Spanish speaker, raises no objection to the name. "His full name is _El Papi Gordo,_ " Hannibal then says, completely unnecessarily.

Maria gives an almost startled snort. "Oh my goodness, that is a name," she says, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Hannibal smiles and says, "Will named him."

Will nearly chokes. Gordo squirms in his arms. "I did not. I wouldn't name a cat something that — look, it was the name he had at the shelter. I don't think it's right to change an animal's name if you know what it is."

"Even if it is _El Papi Gordo._ "

"Even if it's _El Papi Gordo,_ " Will repeats, sharp.

"Well, it suits him," declares Maria.

Hannibal is nearly finished with the dinner preparations, so he sends Will and Maria away. Will quickly goes to shut Gordo into the bathroom — Maria insists she doesn't mind the cat, but Will doesn't want to deal with _Hannibal._

When Will has sufficiently fortified and barricaded the door, he joins Maria in the small section of their living area that passes for a dining room. Their table couldn't seat more than six, but it's not like they normally have guests.

The places are already set. Maria wears a curious look when she sees there are only three, but she makes no comment. Will takes his seat next to Hannibal's, and Maria sits across.

Maria looks pleasant and happy, and excited to be here. What a terrible mistake.

"So, um, you're one of —" God, Will doesn't know what Hannibal's fake first name is supposed to be. It'd be weird to call him _Professor Teel,_ wouldn't it? After an awkward pause, he bypasses the matter of names entirely. "... his students."

"Yes," Maria answers. "Profesor Teel is a wonderful teacher. To learn from him is a privilege."

"That's nice," Will says.

It's starting to feel a little hot in the room. They don't have air conditioning, so there's nothing to be done about it. Will gives himself a little air by tugging on the thin fabric of his shirt. Maria's eyes drift to the wall. Will looks down at his hands.

Oh, god.

In a stroke of mercy, Hannibal calls Will back into the kitchen. In other circumstances Will might have been suspicious of Hannibal actually requesting his presence in the kitchen, but he would've taken literally any excuse to get out of there.

"Will," Hannibal says.

"You have to help me out here," Will says. "I have no idea what to say to some 20 year old Argentinian girl."

Hannibal completely disregards Will's plight. Instead, when Will approaches, he turns and takes Will by the wrist. Startled, Will's first reflex is to resist — but Hannibal just gently pries open his fingers and presses something small into his palm.

Will curiously looks at the object. It appears to be some kind of small capsule, full of a white powder. "I — what?"

"You will be the one put it in her bisque," Hannibal says.

"What?" Will says, looking to the capsule in his hand in disbelief. What, is this _poison?_ " _This_ is how you want to do it?" 

It seemed too — well, _impersonal._ When Will imagined it, he thought of — he —

He didn't think it would be like this.

Thankfully — _thankfully? This is what he was thankful for?_ — Hannibal seems to think the idea was just as ridiculous as Will did. "Of course not," Hannibal says. "This will simply weaken her physically. It will make finishing the job more... manageable." 

Will furrows his brow. Maria can't be taller than 5'5", and her limbs resemble twigs. "I... I really don't think I'll need the help, Hannibal."

Hannibal laughs. "It is not your brawn I doubt, Will," he says. "It's your first time with a woman, and an innocent. I worry that your conscience might get the better of you, if she fights it too fiercely."

That wasn't strictly true. "We killed Bedelia together," Will protests. 

"We _ate_ Bedelia together. You did not take her life with your own hands," Hannibal corrects him. "And she was _hardly_ an innocent."

Will has no idea how to even feel about this exchange. He's torn between being indignant in the face of what is probably on some level an accusation of weakness, the desire to assert himself in the face of doubt, and a niggling part of at the back of his mind that hopes so desperately that Hannibal is right. 

Ultimately, Will grits his teeth and and does what he is told. He opens the capsule up into Maria's prepared dish and watches with detachment as the powder quickly dissolves into its orange heat.

Will is a little startled when Hannibal draws near and grips him by the back of the neck, firm but gentle. "Will, I am more proud of you than words can ever describe," Hannibal says. "I am privileged to have stood witness to something as magnificent as your becoming."

Will self-consciously averts his eyes. He can't help but feel a little sick from his own self-satisfaction. "It's... I'm..."

"Never doubt that I would give you anything," Hannibal says, pressing his lips to Will's forehead. "I would take for you every star in the sky, if you willed it."

"Stop it," Will protests. He grimaces as he pushes Hannibal away. "I'm going to throw up."

Hannibal is unfazed by the rejection. "You've not yet even eaten," he says, smiling. "Come, now. Help me serve our guest."

Will sighs and goes along with Hannibal's elaborate presentation. Hannibal gives his entire speech in Spanish, which somehow makes him sound even more smug and insufferable than he normally is. 

Naturally, nothing ever goes as planned. "Oh, ¡lo siento!" Maria exclaims, hand to her chest. "Debería haber dicho algo — soy alérgica a los mariscos."

Will makes it as far as _I'm sorry_ before his brain checks out on understanding anything she just said, but from the horrified look she gave the crayfish-garnished dish, he could surmise there was a problem with the bisque.

Well, so much for that.

Hannibal does a very good job of appearing unaffected. "My apologies," he says, gracious, as he takes away the poisoned dish. "I hope the rest of the meal will prove satisfactory."

However ridiculous Will had first thought the notion of drugging Maria was, now that it was off the table, he finds himself more anxious about it than he expected. He had no doubt he would be _physically_ able — but could he really go through with it? Could he really kill an innocent woman fighting him with all of her strength? The other times he'd killed, it had been different. They were men, and they'd fought him as equals, and they'd deserved it. 

But it's a bit late to be having second thoughts, isn't it?

Will pushes his fears to the back of his mind and concerns himself solely with the task at hand: eating and surviving this awkward social encounter.

Maria's reaction to everything in the meal she tries is so over the top that if it were anyone but Hannibal, Will would've assumed she was putting it on. But... Hannibal really _is_ that good, honestly. It's no wonder Maria is infatuated with him. Poor girl.

Most of the conversation is dominated by Hannibal and Maria's incomprehensible discussions of academic matters. Will is completely content to just sit there saying nothing as he eats, but Maria is evidently insistent on making him feel included. They speak English for his benefit, and Maria keeps directing questions at him whenever she comes up with them.

"So, Will. What do you do?" Maria asks, when she and Hannibal reach a lull in their exchange.

Will blanks out. What _does_ he do now? Nothing, really. He's Hannibal's fucking boytoy. The realization is kind of disheartening.

So, instead, he tells her what he was. "I'm... a detective, I guess. Criminal profiler. Worked with the police, in the US," he says. "Not um... not doing much of that right now, though."

God, he needs to get a hobby.

"Oh, that is very fascinating," Maria says. She does a very good job at pretending she gives a shit about him. "But now you are so very far from home. I am so curious. How did you two meet?"

"Um. Hannibal was my... psychiatrist," Will answers, without even thinking about it.

"Hannibal?" Maria echoes.

Will freezes. Oh shit. "Er, it's uh. A nickname," he says. He's _really_ going to have to get better at doing this if they have any hope of surviving. "Back from uh, when we were in America together. I call him Hannibal because —"

Hannibal smiles and cuts him off in a stroke of mercy. "Will, you know there is no need for such deception here," he says.

_Oh._

It's obvious. _Of course._ Maria will not leave this house alive, so it does not matter what she hears.

 _Or does Hannibal_ want _her to hear things that she shouldn't, so that she_ can't _?_ So that Will won't be able to...

"Yes," Hannibal says, "My real name is Hannibal Lecter. The name I use as a lecturer at the university is an assumed identity."

There's no reason to tell her that much. Will's grip tightens on his fork.

Maria certainly looks surprised, and unsure of how to respond. "I — I had no idea," she says. Evidently an optimistic spirit, she seems to assume the best of Hannibal. "Well, I have thought of changing my name myself! Many are unhappy with the name. It is normal, I think."

"Quite," Hannibal says, smiling pleasantly. He then looks purposefully to Will. "A name is of little matter, truly. I am the man that I am, no matter what I might be called. Why assign any undue significance to the name that I was given? There is no reason I cannot choose that which pleases me."

Wow. Hannibal is really doing this. Will glares back hatefully, but he's not going to lower himself to responding to this kind of snide jabbing. He's better than this.

Maybe he _should_ have gotten into the cat argument, because Maria is ever eager to keep the conversation rolling into places Will would rather it not. "So, when you said that your... partner would join us, you were speaking of Will," she surmises. 

Hannibal is not coy. "Yes."

"I admit, I had been expecting a woman," Maria says, taking a polite sip of her wine. Will feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end in anticipation of what is to come — Maria continues, delicately, "I hope is not too personal, my asking. You two... you are... gay?"

Will's blood turns to ice. "No," he answers reflexively.

Hannibal gives Will a pointed look, and Will averts his eyes to his plate and hopes the color of his cheeks doesn't show too clearly. His face and chest are scorching, sweat beading on his skin. Their eyes bore through him like termites, itching and scratching deep inside of him.

"Yes, Maria. We are lovers," Hannibal answers, smiling mildly.

Naturally, Maria seems a bit confused by the contradiction. She looks from Hannibal to Will, eyebrows raised. "Oh, you do not need worry," she assures him, wearing her kindest smile. "I have a very, ah, how do you say... _modern sensibility._ Surprised, yes, but it is no problem."

"That's — that's not the issue," Will awkwardly stammers. "Okay, we're, well — yeah, we're... but I'm not."

"I'm sorry?" Maria says.

Will swallows. His entire body feels like it's drenched in sweat. "Gay. I'm not gay."

Hannibal clicks his tongue and Will feels a shot of irritation go through him. "Will, your preoccupation with appearances is terribly unbecoming," he chides, shaking his head like he were disappointed with a child's misbehavior. 

"I'm not _preoccupied with appearances,_ " Will insists, annoyed. He wants to reach out and wrap his hands around Hannibal's neck and — and squeeze him until he _bursts._ He grits his teeth, biting out the words. "I'm correcting you because what you're saying is — is — it's _inaccurate._ The words — don't — they don't _describe_ me —"

"Now you are only being pedantic."

"Pedantic!" Will echoes, with a forced, incredulous bark of laughter. "God, coming from you, that's —"

"Apt," Hannibal sharply interjects. "Do you not enjoy it when we have sex, Will?"

Will has to take a deep breath and remind himself that Maria is going to die. It is the only thing that keeps him from throwing himself out of the window in abject humiliation. Will spares a glance then to Maria, who, despite her assurances to her comfort with the topic of their supposed homosexuality, was clearly descending into a state of unease. Not that this would be a particularly enjoyable display to be subjected to even if Will had been a woman.

Will curses himself for immediately casting _himself_ as the woman and does his best to push the thought from his mind. However embarrassed he is, he doesn't want to let the argument go. He won't let Hannibal win. "It's not like I hate it," he says, "but I don't have sex with you because I'm attracted to you. I'm willing to go along with the things you want from me because I love you."

It does not escape Will's notice how Hannibal responds when he _says the words._ He deploys it tactically; it affects Hannibal, in whatever small measure. Makes him amenable. Pleasant. Will feels powerful — it is the only time he gets to feel like he really has control over all of this.

It is a kind of manipulation, he supposes. It's useful. He tries not to do it too often, lest Hannibal begin to catch on. For now, though, it works.

Will privately revels as he watches Hannibal soften, and cede his ground. Is he the only person who has ever had such a hold over Hannibal? Maybe it's strange to feel pride.

Maria seems troubled and needlessly contrite. "I... did not intend to cause, em, a... _dispute,_ between the two of you. I am sorry."

Will snorts, and returns to eating. "It's fine. It's always like this."

"Will is incapable of letting things go," Hannibal says.

"See?" Will groans, letting his fork clatter onto his plate in exasperation. His victories are always short lived. "How could you _not_ argue with this guy all the time?"

Maria brings her hand to her mouth and laughs, and Hannibal shakes his head. "Perhaps it is time we finished this," he says, evidently less amused than their guest.

Will pauses. "Uh, are you talking about our argument, or... ?"

Hannibal answers the question by rising from his seat. "Maria, I had hoped that you would be able to try dessert, but I am afraid that I am inclined to cut things rather short."

Maria doesn't understand. "¿P-perdón?"

The girl sits in frozen confusion as Hannibal circles around the table, coming to touch a gentle hand to her shoulder. His grip turns harsh when he reaches into his jacket and withdraws a glinting hypodermic needle.

Well, Hannibal is nothing if not prepared. 

Maria gasps in shock and reflexively attempts to twist out of Hannibal's grasp, but he holds her steady enough to press the tip of the needle to her neck. Maria freezes in her abject terror. "Oh, dios —"

"Maria, I have one last question of you," Hannibal says, his tone warm and comforting.

Maria looks up at Hannibal, panicked. "Q— Qu— What?"

"If you were to shorten the name _El Papi Gordo,_ which do you think is most appropriate? Papi, or Gordo?"

"Oh my god," Will mutters under his breath, bringing his hand to his forehead.

"What?" Maria is so stunned by the question that she stops shaking. She opens and closes her mouth, eyes wide, and looks from Hannibal to Will and back. "I — G... Gordo?" 

Hannibal clicks his tongue and injects the drug into her neck. 

"See!?" Will barks. He's so fucking smug about it that he can't help but laugh even with this girl weeping and crying in Spanish. "I was right!"

Hannibal shakes his head. He sets the syringe aside, hauls Maria to her feet and wraps an arm around her neck to restrain her as she flails — she's weakening by the second. "She was clearly just trying to tell me the answer she thought I wanted to hear. She simply guessed incorrectly."

"Oh, like you'd be saying that if she answered _Papi,_ " Will says, rolling his eyes. "Admit it, Hannibal. Admit you were _wrong._ "

"Absolutely not."

"Say it!" Will demands, getting up from his seat. "I want to hear you tell me I was right, and you were wrong."

"Stop being foolish, Will," Hannibal says. Maria has all but stopped struggling now — it seems she's still conscious, but she can only claw weakly at Hannibal's arm around her shoulders. Her face is streaked with tears and she's sobbing uncontrollably. "It is time to put aside these trivial matters and face the task at hand, with both eyes open."

Will feels a bit ridiculous when he looks at Maria's face. The gravity of what they were about to do hadn't really started to weigh on him until this moment. A girl is about to die by his hand and they're fighting about the _cat._

At once Hannibal picks Maria up into his arms, and carries her out into the living room. Will hurries to follow after him. 

Hannibal lays the girl down in the center of the room, framing her body with the bright red and black patterns of their area rug. She lies limply where she is set, mumbling, "¿Qué hiciste? Por q... q..."

Will comes to stand beside Hannibal. He stares down at Maria, through her, past her. His head is swimming. "Hannibal..."

Hannibal lays his hand on Will's shoulder, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb. "Go ahead, Will. You may have her in any way that you wish."

Shit.

Will's mouth goes dry. Now that the moment is before him, now that nothing stands between him and the taking but his own will —

Reality and fantasy are such different beasts.

"I don't know if I can do this," he says. He licks his lips. They feel chapped. "Hannibal, I —"

Hannibal's eyes darken. "Will."

Will turns his head to look at Hannibal, face pained. "This is different. It's really different. It's not like Garret Jacob Hobbs or, or Randall Tier, or the Dragon — this girl, she hasn't — she's just some random girl."

Hannibal sighs. He brings his hand to Will's cheek — Will leans into it, despite himself. He needs the support. "Will," Hannibal says. "You mustn't let your fears rule you."

"I'm not _afraid._ "

"What then drives you to this cowardice, if not fear?"

Will clenches his teeth. Hannibal is trying to goad him, even now. "I don't want to kill her, Hannibal."

"Kill me?" Maria whimpers. "Oh, please, don't — don't —"

Maria's pleading stabs Will in the gut. He feels so miserably awful that it is like his entire body is being _crushed._ The guilt crawls over his skin, claws at his entrails and leaves his knees feeling weak — he looks at Maria and sees himself, dark, sprawling like branches, spreading through the air like a sickness. Like a plague. _Pestilence._ There is nothing in him that is worth saving.

"Will," Hannibal says, trying to pull Will back to the present.

It's too much. Will can't take it. He turns and escapes to the kitchen. He feels like he's hyperventilating. He runs to the sink, grips the rim with his hands until his fingers hurt. He's afraid he might throw up. He feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, so sick to his stomach he can't stand it — he leans over the sink, waiting for it to come — 

But it doesn't. He doesn't throw up. He's not sick. Not physically.

Hannibal is beside him, a hand lain on his back. He rubs Will through the thin fabric, speaks with a soft voice. "You can do this, Will. You are capable."

"I can't," Will gasps. "I can't do it. I can't do it. I don't want to do it."

"We both know that isn't true, my love."

"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," Will hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. He's shaking. "I'm not like you."

Hannibal doesn't respond, at first, like he's stunned. "I thought we'd moved past this long ago," he eventually sighs. He pulls his hand away, leaving Will cold. "I must say, Will, I am a bit disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Will repeats, quiet. "You're _disappointed?_ "

"You are still lying to yourself, even now. And after we'd made such progress."

"What are you even doing? Do you think I don't know it when you try to manipulate me?" Will says, turning to stare Hannibal defiantly in the eye. As difficult as it is for him to manage, Hannibal will not miss the significance of the gesture. "Don't give me this _disappointed father_ shit. I'm not stupid, Hannibal."

"Do you truly intend to deny your nature?" 

"I'm not — I'm not denying my nature," Will protests. He's growing angry. "I don't want to kill Maria. She's innocent. She's just a girl. We can kill other people. Killers, and — and people who deserve it."

"People like us," Hannibal says.

The thought certainly does nothing to assuage his guilt, but he doesn't want to give in so easily. "We could still be something good," Will breathes, even if he's not sure he believes it. He reaches out to Hannibal, takes fistfuls of his shirt into his hands. Hannibal stares back with dead eyes. "We could use the way we are to _stop_ the evil in this world. There's no shortage of people who deserve to die, Hannibal. There's no reason it has to be Maria."

Hannibal smiles and holds Will by the shoulders. "You are ever the noble spirit, Will."

"Don't condescend to me," Will says, but his fervor is going weak. He releases his grip on Hannibal's shirt, and can't help but find a relaxing comfort when Hannibal embraces him. "Don't..."

"Shh, Will," Hannibal says, petting his hair. Will hates how good the closeness makes him feel. "I understand that it is hard. But you know that it is too late for us to let Maria go."

Will breathes in Hannibal's scent and his head feets light. He loves how Hannibal smells. He loves him. It's completely ridiculous and makes no sense but it is the only truth in which he can have any faith. "We can leave again. I don't have any attachment to this place," he mumbles. "I'll go anywhere in the world with you."

"It is not so simple as —"

Their conversation is cut short. Will jolts with shock when a loud crash resounds through the house. "What was —"

Hannibal is quick to pull away and investigate the source, and Will hurries after him. They pass through the living room and Maria is gone.

Will feels his heart in his throat. Had the drug already worn off? Had she been faking being so incapacitated? Had she simply been so desperate to live that she pushed herself to achieve the impossible?

The front door is wide open. 

When Hannibal and Will rush outside, they find that Maria hasn't gone far. She's stumbling forward in the dark, swaying and tripping like she's forgotten how to walk. Hannibal remains impossibly calm in the face of this disaster. "You must stop her, Will."

Will looks desperately to Hannibal. "I —"

"If you allow her to escape, she will go to the police," Hannibal says. "We will have to leave immediately. There is no guarantee we will make it across the border before we are located by the authorities. They will extradite us, most probably. We will stand trial for our crimes and the law will show us no mercy."

Will looks back ahead of him, watching Maria slowly grow smaller in his vision.

"If we are caught, they will not allow us contact," Hannibal says, placing a hand on Will's lower back. "We will never see each other again."

And then Hannibal gives Will a gentle push, and Will stumbles unsteadily forward. As if of their own volition, his legs take a step, and then another — and then he is moving smoothly, quickly, blind to everything but his predator's sight.

His heart is beating so hard that he can hear nothing but the coursing rush of blood in his ears. He does not run, but Maria has no hope of escaping him as weak as she is. He is upon her within seconds — she screams and cries but Will effortlessly overpowers her. He grabs her by her arm and pulls her back towards the house. When she falls, he drags her through the dirt.

Hannibal helps Will get her back safely into the house, but from there, he does nothing but simply watch.

Will brings Maria back to the living room, and tosses her down onto the floor. She connects with the ground hard, crying out from the pain. His eyes are flooded by the red of the carpet, the patterns swimming and pulsing in his vision, engulfing the figure in its midst. He breathes heavily through his mouth, his saliva accumulating, spraying through his clenched teeth — he falls to his knees astride her, reaches out — 

Will feels his hand close around Maria's neck and the heat and pulse beneath his fingers spreads up his arms, through his body in waves, makes his head feel cloudy. She chokes, sputters, claws weakly at his fingers, kicks her legs, thrashes her body beneath him. Nothing she does moves Will even an inch.

Her neck is so thin. He could strangle her like this with just one hand. She's so delicate, fragile. Will bears down, looks her in the eye — he has no fear of it now, no shame. He wants to see the very moment her life leaves her.

Will's heart is racing, eyes watering because he hasn't blinked, and he grips tighter. Harder. Presses his trembling fingers deep into the flesh of her throat, digging into the meat — he adds his other hand and he squeezes, squeezes so hard his entire arm shakes from it, wrenches —

Will hears something loudly snap, and it's over.

Maria is dead.

Will stops. His lungs heave with air. His lips drip with spit. He looks upon Maria now, eyes open, glassy, lifeless. She is motionless. He killed her. She's dead.

Will lurches back, pulls himself up to his feet. He's unsteady, and Hannibal catches him. He clings desperately to Hannibal's arms. His legs feel so weak. "Hannibal," he gasps. "Hannibal."

Hannibal helps Will right himself, holds him straight until he can collect himself well enough to stand. "It's all right, Will. You did it."

Will's heartbeat is beginning to calm. Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, he starts to return to himself — to whatever it is that he is. That he has become. Hannibal smiles at him so warmly that he feels like his chest might burst.

And then the question Hannibal asks is like a bucket of ice water over his high. "Do you want to have sex with her body, Will?"

" _What?_ " Will sputters, in complete disbelief.

And then his eyes follow Hannibal's, drifting down to look at his own crotch.

_Oh._

Will pulls back suddenly from Hannibal's touch. "No," he responds. He looks down to Maria's body at their feet, his hands shaking. "No. I don't want to do that. That's..."

"Don't be shy, Will," Hannibal says. He draws near again, his presence overwhelming; Will turns away. Hannibal brushes aside Will's hair to kiss his neck, by his ear, and all but whispers, "I won't be jealous, if that's what you want. If you need a woman's body to fulfill you."

Will grows a little angry. Who does Hannibal think he is? "I don't want to _fuck_ corpses, Hannibal," he responds, at full volume.

Hannibal smiles and laughs pleasantly as he withdraws. "Suit yourself," he says. "Come, then. I'll help you."

Will doesn't resist or protest when Hannibal takes his hand and leads him the short distance to the couch. He sighs as Hannibal pulls him down into his lap, lips at his throat.

"How did it feel?" Hannibal asks, running his fingers up beneath Will's shirt to press them into the tense muscles of his back.

Will releases a soft breath, arching his neck to bare it to Hannibal's teeth. "It felt —" Hannibal takes the invitation to bite at his skin and Will gasps. "I feel —" Hannibal's blunt nails rake over his flesh. "— like I can finally —"

"Breathe again," Hannibal finishes.

Of course, Hannibal knows. He knows exactly how it feels to hunger, to grow weak in the famine. He knows exactly how it feels to be smothered by the darkness, choked, how it fills every inch of him like smoke, burning his lungs and the walls of his chest, full to bursting. And he knows exactly the nature of the ecstasy that comes in that single moment when it all finally falls away, and he can stand bared and pure, feel himself in the full intensity of the abyss. He knows that nothing else in the world can compare.

Will often wonders why he loves Hannibal, because he certainly doesn't _like_ him. But it's moments like these where he knows it can be no one else. "Yeah," he mumbles, his fingers curling around the back of Hannibal's neck. "It's been — it's been a while."

Hannibal's tone is almost curious. "And do you regret it?"

"... Not yet," Will answers.

And then at once Hannibal shifts their positions, pressing Will down beneath him into the cushions of the couch. He licks over Will's throat, bites at his collar — Will shivers when Hannibal's fingers run up under his shirt and over the contours of his stomach and chest, but it isn't long before they warm from contact with Will's own heat.

Hannibal pushes back to sit astride Will's thighs, arm outstretched. Will lies there, exposed, as Hannibal simply... _looks_ at him. His eyes rake over Will's body, intent but unreadable. It takes a moment before Hannibal moves again, his hand sliding over the planes of Will's abdomen, slow and sensuous. 

Will finds himself holding his breath as Hannibal explores his skin — he shudders and releases it when Hannibal brushes a thumb over his nipple. "I love to look at you," Hannibal says, tone reverent, as if Will weren't already well aware of the fact. "I never tire of it. I will gaze upon you until I draw my last breath."

 _What?_ Oh, god, he was getting shmoopy again. "I'd rather you touch my dick a little sooner than that," Will says. 

That at least gets Hannibal to laugh. Will's eyes close when Hannibal's hand finally reaches down to unzip his fly, and let his cock slips free of his pants. 

Hannibal takes Will into his hand and Will lets himself relax, focus on the sensation and nothing else. Hannibal starts gently, doing little more than teasing, but Will is so wired that even the faintest touch feels incredible. 

Will likes it best like this. Hannibal is good with his hands, and he knows how Will wants to be touched. Of course Hannibal loves to invade his body, and Will doesn't refuse him what he wants when he wants it, but when it's like this — simple, nothing but his hand and his lips — Will is very content. It feels more intimate than anything else they do, really. 

Hannibal works him in long, rhythmic strokes, studying the expressions of his face. Will lets Hannibal see him as he is, unrestrained and unashamed, and Hannibal drinks in the sight of him as if it were as potent as any touch.

Hannibal leans in and Will lifts his hand to tangle it into his hair, mussing it up. He loves when Hannibal comes apart for him — it's satisfying to see the artifice peel away and gaze upon the monster beneath, hideous and captivating in equal measure. Hannibal kisses him, and his lips are soft, and his face still feels smooth and freshly shaven, but Will imagines he can taste his poison. It's sickly sweet. 

Will pulls Hannibal's lower lip into his mouth and bites down — Hannibal answers him with a growl low in his throat, body tensing up, grip around Will's cock tightening until Will can't help but moan. The kiss turns intense and invasive as Hannibal wetly sucks at his lips, forces his tongue past his teeth. Will welcomes it eagerly, pressing up into Hannibal's fist.

Will all but whimpers when Hannibal pulls back, barely more than an inch, but far enough that Will can no longer reach without straining. "Look at me," Hannibal demands.

Hannibal is so close that Will can feel the heat of his breath on his skin, smell the wine in his mouth, make out every hair of his pale brow. Will steadies himself, and, reluctantly, he meets Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal's gaze is a void from which no light can escape. It pulls and it consumes and in it Will is inescapably trapped. At once it sees everything and it sees nothing, and Will feels pierced, violated, seen — and he feels safe, known and unjudged in the full honesty of his naked ugliness. 

Will has never loathed another human being as much as he loathes Hannibal, and neither has he loved one. He is revolted and enraptured in equal measure. He is changed, completely and utterly. 

Will lets his eyes fall half-lidded, fluttering, but he does not break contact with the darkness of Hannibal's stare. Will is never as sure as himself as he is when he sees himself reflected in the emptiness of Hannibal's eyes — if he has any doubts, they dare not rear themselves now. 

"You are perfect," Hannibal says, breathy and quiet, almost like he's reaching his limit himself. Just touching Will seems to bring him to ecstasy. "You were made for me. God's most beautiful creation."

"God didn't make me," Will exhales. "You did."

As if to punish him for his insolence, Hannibal grips him harshly and twists his fist at the end of his cock. Will's eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. "Oh god —"

"We are God's instruments on this Earth, Will, and it is through our eyes He judges the hearts of men," Hannibal says. He thumbs over the slit of Will's cock, spreading the moisture over the head until he's slick and glistening. "Heaven and Hell are fates of our own making."

"You don't believe in god, or in heaven or hell," Will pants.

Hannibal smiles. He rarely smiles with his teeth, but he does now — his gums are shallow, and his teeth look long and sharp and dangerous, not completely straight, not completely white. He looks feral. He looks hungry. "I don't need to," he says, and bites into the flesh of Will's neck.

Will sighs contentedly as Hannibal breaks the skin, again and again, leaving marks trailing up from his shoulder to his throat. He turns his head to bare himself willingly — and when he opens his eyes, he sees Maria's staring lifelessly back at him.

Maria lies on the floor where she was felled, unmoved. Will cannot look away. He digs his fingers harshly into Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal picks up his pace. Will is drawing ever closer now.

"God created man, and so too did we create Him," Hannibal whispers, lips wet by Will's ear. "I am God, and He is me; together we are all that is and will ever be." Will's eyes turn glassy and unfocused as Hannibal pumps his cock, quick, cresting — "Will you stand with us, Will, at the precipice of our unmaking? When the reckoning comes, and the hammer falls, will you accept the glory of our magnificent damnation?"

"I —" Will's eyes snap back to Hannibal's, and they are black, endless, no more living than the body their floor beside them. Will lets himself go and he gasps, "Yes, yes, I —"

"Come for me, Will," Hannibal implores.

Will's vision goes white and his mouth opens in a strangled cry, and as he comes Hannibal kisses him, deep and fervent. The orgasm takes him intensely, rolls through his body and robs him of his sense and senses. He babbles in incoherence as his cock spills into the fist around it, and Hannibal milks him for every drop, stroking him until he is overstimulated and all but begging for it to stop.

Hannibal pulls back as Will's mind begins to clear. Will sighs heavily in his release, and he reaches out to return the favor — Hannibal is obviously, painfully hard against his thigh — but Hannibal knocks his hand aside. "Do not concern yourself with that," Hannibal assures him. "I will do it."

Will is content enough to lie as he is, watching with heavily lidded eyes as Hannibal reaches down, pulls his cock out from the confines of his pants. He's hard, pulsing, nearly purple — it's agonizing to look at. Hannibal's relief is practically palpable when he finally grips himself with his soiled hand, spreading Will's cum all over his own cock.

Will wets his lips. It looks milky and thick. Hannibal's hand moves quickly, gripping tightly — he rolls his foreskin over the head, and it's red, glistening with cum. Will's eyes flit up to Hannibal's face, but he's staring down at himself intently.

"Kiss me," Will says.

Hannibal pauses, startled to even be addressed, but he's quick to comply and press his lips to Will's. Even in the haze of his own orgasm, it feels good. Will genuinely loves to kiss him. 

It doesn't take long for Hannibal to climax. He breaks away from Will's mouth only when he comes, and he's silent but for a few harsh, voiceless breaths. Will swallows as he looks down between them, their messes mixing together on Hannibal's hand.

Will isn't even really thinking about it when he takes Hannibal by the wrist, brings his palm up to his mouth, and drags his tongue through their commingled fluids. 

This is certainly never a thing Will has done before. He's never wanted to. He's never even had to address the quandary of _spit or swallow_ — when Will sucks Hannibal off, which he has done exactly twice, he lets Hannibal finish in his hand, or on his face. The prospect of eating cum has never appealed to him, and he has no idea why it does now.

Maybe he's getting gayer. He kind of hopes so. That would make this a lot less complicated, honestly.

It doesn't exactly taste very good, but Will feels compelled to lick every drop of it from Hannibal's hand. He licks Hannibal's palm clean, and then he sucks each of his fingers into his mouth and bathes them with his tongue until there's nothing left but the glistening sheen of his spit. 

It's the kind of thing that only feels as ridiculous as it is once he's actually gone and done it. "Eugh," Will says, grimacing. 

Hannibal, at least, seems to find his retrospective distaste endearing. "It's an acquired taste," he says.

"I bet," Will mumbles. He feels awfully tired, but now that the fun is over, they have more pressing concerns. "Now we have to deal with the body."

"Do not worry, my love," Hannibal says, kissing Will chastely on the lips. Everything tastes salty. "There's no need for you to concern yourself with the unpleasantries. I'll take care of you."

Part of Will wants to think it's sweet that Hannibal wishes to spare him from the drudge work; part of Will can't help but wonder if it's because Hannibal wants Will to be dependent upon him forever, unable to handle the menial upkeep of life as a killer.

For now, Will makes the choice not to care. "Okay," he says, letting himself go slack on the couch. "Th... anks."

Will is asleep nearly the moment he closes his eyes.  
  


* * *

  
Will wakes up in bed.

He doesn't remember making it to bed, so he assumes Hannibal must have brought him to it after he fell asleep. Hannibal is beside him, asleep on his stomach, an arm slung over Will's chest. 

The reason why he has been woken up soon becomes evident. Gordo is fatly nestled between them, occasionally releasing a plaintive meow. Will is surprised Hannibal ever even released him from confinement. He groggily extracts himself from Hannibal's hold and sits up — he's startled when he notices the _dead fucking mouse._

Gordo has honest to god brought a corpse into their bed. Will glances to the window to try to guess what time it is — it has to be really early in the morning. Oh, god. This is going to end badly.

Will looks nervously to Hannibal as he stirs — he honestly considers trying to hide the dead mouse. Hannibal is going to be pissed, but Will is morbidly curious to see just how bad it'll be. Man, how did Gordo even manage to kill this thing? 

Gordo belts out another long, high pitched cry and Hannibal is definitely awake. Will braces himself for the worst as Hannibal rolls over, blearily sits up, goes through the same delayed process of registering what has happened... 

"There is a mouse corpse in our bed," Hannibal states, looking slowly from the mouse to Will.

"Yeah," Will says. "Good morning."

"Hmm," Hannibal remarks. That's surprisingly mild. Gordo beeps, very happy with himself.

Will watches Hannibal carefully to parse his response. But Hannibal isn't angry. He actually looks... _proud?_

Will stares in disbelief as Hannibal scoops up the dead mouse, cradling it like something precious. "It seems that I have underestimated _El Papi Gordo,_ " Hannibal concludes. "There is a dignity about him that I overlooked, in my haste to judge him for his appearance."

"I — wh—" Will is stunned speechless. "Are you screwing with me?"

"I would hardly be so crass as to make light when any creature offers me a life as a gift," Hannibal says.

God damn. He's dead serious.

Well, Will's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He goes along with it. "All right," he says. "Yeah, he's not so bad. He doesn't have any teeth or claws, so he must've had to try really hard to take that thing down."

Hannibal closely investigates the mouse. "It appears its neck has been broken. He shattered its spine with the crushing strength of his jaws alone."

"Wow. Impressive," Will says, stroking over Gordo's flabby backside. The cat trills agreeably.

And then Hannibal rises from bed without a word, taking the mouse with him. Will scrambles to his feet and fumbles to put some shorts on before he follows Hannibal and Gordo out of the room.

Hannibal has moved to the kitchen. Gordo is sat at his feet, staring up expectantly, releasing the occasional excited meow. Hannibal has... prepared a cutting board.

Holy shit.

"What are you _doing?_ " Will asks, staring.

"I am preparing Gordo's breakfast," Hannibal says. Will is gracious enough to not gloat when Hannibal implicitly flies the white flag. "He has been robbed of his natural weapons that might otherwise allow him to pierce the mouse's flesh. I will help him, and fashion him a meal befitting of his conquest."

This is the stupidest thing that Will has ever been witness to, but he kind of loves it, and he's in a fantastic mood. He feels good. He loves Hannibal. This is really good when it's good. He hopes it lasts. 

Will comes to stand behind Hannibal, and he slips his arms around his waist. "I'm glad you like the cat now," Will says, nuzzling his nose against the nape of Hannibal's neck. Hannibal is being so agreeable right now that he doesn't even try to protest the statement.

Will breathes in Hannibal's scent and sighs, his own body melting into the bare heat of his lover's back. They stand like that for a time, comfortable. Will watches over Hannibal's shoulder as he works to meticulously skin the mouse. Gordo rubs up against their legs and meows. And then Will mumbles, "Will you change your mind about the dog?"

"No," Hannibal says, and brings his knife down over the mouse's neck.


End file.
